


Advent Calendar

by Thestarlitrose



Series: Connecting the Stars [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), M/M, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 13,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21708214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thestarlitrose/pseuds/Thestarlitrose
Summary: Small fics inspired by Drawlight's lovely Advent Calendar!These are interwoven with my Series,Connecting the Stars,but can be read alone.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling, Warlock Dowling & Adam Young, Warlock Dowling/Adam Young
Series: Connecting the Stars [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547323
Comments: 50
Kudos: 111





	1. Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift to everyone who has supported my writing, especially my betas and those who frequent my works. I appreciate you more than you could possibly know. 
> 
> Wishing you all a very Happy Holidays! May your 2020 be full of surprises, love and laughter!

**Day 1- Mistletoe**

**The Dowling Residence**

As with many things, Harriet Dowling had gone overboard with the decorations. She was currently tipsily directing the horde of decorators that had been hired to jolly up the place.

Crowley led the 9-year old through the mess of decorations, past the kitchen and into the garden. Warlock had just returned from school and was past ready for his afternoon tea.

“Nan-ny,” he whined.

Crowley sighed, “War-lock.”

The boy grinned, then stuck his tongue out at his caretaker. “Where’s Mr. Francis?”

“Likely helping your mother on her rampage. I believe he has been placed in charge of the fairy light situation.”

Warlock wrinkled his nose, “He’s missing tea.”

“I know hellspawn, stay here and I’ll tell cook we’re ready.”

The boy nodded, glancing around at the patio. It looked like Christmas had thrown up our here, there was a large Christmas tree beside the firepit, fairy lights strung in the bare trees and sprigs of mistletoe were hung in strategic places.

He heard Mr. Francis before he saw him, grumbling and huffing about the decorations as he walked towards his cottage.

“Mr. Francis!” he called, hopping up and running towards the man, “You’re gonna miss tea if you don’t come on!”

The man paused and turned around, “Oh! I nearly forgot! I suppose a small break wouldn’t do _much_ harm. Let me freshen up and I’ll be right along!” he smiled, his mood suddenly improved with the promise of a snack. 

A little while later, Nanny had returned with one of the kitchen staff. She was standing off to the side as the table was set when Mr. Francis come to stand beside her.

Warlock smirked, “Nan-ny.”

She sighed, raising a perfectly manicured brow over the rim of her dark glasses, “War-lock, what do you need.”

Eyes full of mischief and mirth, he pointed to the bunch of mistletoe hanging above his Nanny and his favorite gardener, giggling to himself.

Both looked up at the same time, their posture suddenly stiff and their eyes widening before glancing at the other.

“Damnit, Harriet.” Said Nanny, causing the woman who was nearly finished setting the table to turn around and snort.

“Oh, dear.”

“Angel, we don’t…” he was interrupted by a pair of warm lips pressing against his cheek.

His head jerked towards the angel, mouth opening then shutting with a snap.

Childish laughter was ringing through the air and he turned to glare at his ward. He wanted to be mad but currently, his insides were churning, and he was fighting; and losing, against the blush creeping onto his pale cheeks.

The woman setting the table sniggered then announced that tea was ready. She flounced off, likely to gossip with the other kitchen staff about what she’d just witnessed.

Warlock noticed the hand on the small of his Nanny’s back as they walked to join him at the table, only to be removed so Mr. Francis could pull out the chair for her before she sat down.

He smiled widely at her before reaching over to grab one of the shortbread biscuits in the middle of the table.

The boy didn’t notice the shy smiles his Nanny and Mr. Francis were giving the other from across the table, too engrossed in the retelling of his day and the plates of goodies the cook had sent for them.


	2. Snow

**Day 2- Snow**

_**The Dowling Residence** _

Christmas was in a few weeks and the house was ablaze with activity. Crowley had never been one for Christmas, it reminded him of his friend and the horrors he had faced later in life all in the name of God. He had been a good man and a better friend, despite what Crowley had been tasked to do. He’d politely declined his temptations, instead, cracking a joke or starting a new topic of conversation. He'd died and now, his birthday was celebrated with a man in a red suit, commercialism and an offensive amount of dead greenery and fairy lights.

The cold December air had rolled in the week before, leaving all of England more frigid than usual.

He held the small child in his arms, rocking him as he cried. His blue eyes were bright and curious, they reminded him a bit of a certain angel's blue eyes. He hummed an ancient tune as he walked through the suite they’d given him. It was large, his bedroom had plenty of space, with a large ensuite bathroom, sitting area and even a tiny kitchenette. His bedroom had a door that typically stayed open leading into the nursery. Eventually, he was told, Warlock would be moved across the hall, but for now, it was safer for their rooms to adjoin.

Warlock was still whimpering, snubbing his nose against his chest, searching for something he wouldn’t find on Crowley. Harriet had breastfed for all of two weeks before switching the babe to the bottle. It was a nightmare for the child and his Nanny, as he clearly had a preference and only weakly accepted the alternative when it became clear that was the only option he'd be receiving. 

Crowley waved a hand, summoning a warmed bottle for the young Antichrist. He walked them over to the large window in the nursery that overlooked the garden. The snow hit the window, making it difficult to see the small cottage at the back of the garden. His stomach flipped when the light flicked on, they’d never been so close to one another, not for this long. Not since he fell anyway, he pushed those memories away, a thought for another night perhaps. He had missed their closeness for an eternity, having him within his grasp here, so close but untouchable was proving to be the most difficult part of their plan. 

He continued to rock the boy as he gave in and eagerly fed on the bottle he’d been presented with.

The child wiggled against him and for a moment, Crowley _wished_.

He allowed his mind to drift to another life, where perhaps the babe in his arms wasn’t the child of his brother but his own. A child conceived of love, not destruction. Maybe they would have a cottage of their own somewhere, perhaps near the sea. Aziraphale liked the sea, it would be a good place for a child to grow up he thought to himself. A cottage where on a night like tonight, the angel would wrap his arms around him; warm and strong, as he cradled the child in his embrace. Then the angel would lean his head against his shoulder as they watched the snowfall outside. Then possibly, once the child was asleep, they would go to bed, cuddled close throughout the night.

Crowley pulled the child closer to his breast, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Sleepy blue eyes met his, Warlock’s tiny hand wrapping around his finger as he fell asleep. 

Outside, the snow fell on. 


	3. Nutcracker

**Day 3- Nutcracker**

_**Aziraphale’s Bookshop, Soho.** _

The angel was feeling melancholy. It was Christmas again, only a few months since the world didn’t end.

Crowley and he were… something.

They were freer with their touches, less cautious with their meetings. Crowley had taken to visiting his shop on a near-daily basis. It was wonderful.

However, it was the first Christmas in nearly eleven years that they weren’t on the Dowling Estate. He missed the boy, he thought he would be glad to be free of the Antichrist… well of Warlock, he certainly wasn’t the Antichrist. But then he’d grown attached, he loved the child and missed him dearly. He knew they had interfered enough in his life, but he missed him. Aziraphale had spent so much time with the boy raising him to be good that it would be difficult not to miss him. His light to Crowley’s dark. The angel on his shoulder. Aziraphale chuckled at that, it had long been a running joke between him and Crowley during their years on the estate. 

Aziraphale sighed, the shop needed to be decorated. He was growing weary of the place, he loved his shop but so much had happened here. Perhaps a nice break soon would do him some good.

He walked to the attic, rummaging around until he found the two boxes he was looking for. He sat the dusty box down and began to take out various decorations he’d collected over the years. An elaborate Nativity, snow globes; most of which had been gifted to him by Crowley, there were a few glass Santas and even a small Christmas tree he planned to put in the shop window. 

As Aziraphale reached into the box, his fingers wrapped around a small, forgotten object. Its red uniform had become worn, the paint rubbing off from being played with so often, the fuzzy helmet had lost is fluff and the base of the figure was dotted with bite marks from a teething disaster. The small nutcracker figurine in his hands still felt like the child, his love clinging to the object.

Warlock was four years old when he gifted the Nutcracker to him, he’d been upset that his mother wouldn’t let him give Mr. Francis anything for Christmas. Nanny had tried to explain to him that giving the gardener a gift was inappropriate, but the child had been persistent. In the end, he’d taken his favorite decoration and pressed it into the gardener’s hands, then given him a hug. Aziraphale had all but forgotten about the figurine until tonight.

He closed his hand around the object tightly, his heart longing for a child that was his in spirit but not in body. He reached out with his power, Warlock was in America, as he should be. He was with his family, where he belonged. He held no claim to him, he never had. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes, performing a small blessing for the child so that his day would be a joyous one.

He tucked the figurine into his front pocket, only taking it out to leave on a table in his backroom. He would show Crowley tonight when he came over, perhaps over a nice red. 


	4. Cranberry

**Day 4- Cranberry**

_**Adam Young’s Flat** _

Two men were sprawled across the couch lamenting their choices from the night before. 

“Adamm, make the room stop spinning.” Whined Warlock. 

The other man mumbled something incoherent, his arm slung over his face in an attempt to block out the sun.

The dark-haired man wiggled a throw pillow free, whacking the other on the head to get his attention. “Adam, can’t you make this go away?”

He groaned in reply, shuffling towards the back of the sofa in hopes of falling back asleep. 

Warlock Dowling had a hangover from hell, and it was all Adam’s fault. The bastard couldn't even be bothered to put them out of their misery. 

They’d gone to Adam’s flat for dinner and to grade papers after a long week of finals. 

Warlock liked Adam, they got along well and he was interesting to speak with. He told funny stories and came up with the wildest theories. Warlock could easily see himself falling for him, it had been an issue since the day he'd met the other man and his resolve was failing quickly.

So when he’d been asked the night before if he wanted to have takeout and a few drinks while they slugged through the mound of blue books and questionably written papers, he’d jumped at the opportunity.

Takeout had been served with a bottle of cranberry wine; sweet but tart all the same, which had then miraculously turned into two, and soon three bottles had been consumed.

Now, he had regrets. The sweet fermented fruit had turned bitter on his tongue throughout the night and he briefly wondered if he could ever stomach the taste of cranberry again.

He heard Adam groan from the other side of the couch, their legs were tangled in a way he refused to think about hungover, especially the way his warmth tingled pleasantly up his thighs.

Warlock sighed, “I have on good authority that you can fix this Adam.”

Another mumble.

“Just snap your fingers, that’s what Nanny does.” He said, one eye peeping open at the man on the other side of the sofa. 

Instead of a snap, a very rude hand gesture was flashed towards him before the arm went back to cover his eyes.

Warlock fell back against the couch, there were three empty bottles of wine scattering the carpet. The night had been fun, they’d gotten through over half their papers before getting too tipsy to continue.

They had spent the remainder of the evening drinking. He loved Adam’s stories, he’d traveled so much for a while, he truly had the best stories to tell. He seemed to always be getting into some sort of trouble. There had been joking and pleasant conversation and if he were being honest with himself, lots of flirting too. He groaned in embarrassment. 

Warlock shut his eyes tightly, willing the nausea rising in his throat to wane so he could go to the bathroom. 

The next thing he knew was that his headache had cleared, he must have fallen back asleep. 

The smell of bacon frying and coffee hung heavy in the air, instead of the impending nausea he expected, his stomach growled.

Slowly he sat up, tenderly touching his head. To his great surprise, it was fine.

He realized he had a blanket wrapped around him as it pooled at his waist, he gently fingered the soft material, heat blooming in his chest.

Warlock heard Adam walk in, the other man’s hair was damp, his curls hanging wild around his head. He was wearing a threadbare t-shirt and sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips.

He blinked at him, “Did you?” he pointed towards his head.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I sometimes forget that’s an option.” Adam grinned, causing a swarm of butterflies to erupt in Warlock's abdomen. 

Warlock nodded at him, “I could have used you in college, I partied a lot more than I should have.”

“ _I_ didn’t even use me in my early college years, it never occurred to me until my uncle mentioned it in passing while I complained of a hangover.” he shrugged. 

Warlock raised an eyebrow at him, “Do I smell coffee?”

Adam grinned, “You do, if you’re lucky there might be some breakfast too.”

He stood up, placing the blanket over the back of the couch before following his friend into the kitchen, the morning suddenly felt filled with possibility.


	5. Fire

**Day 5- Fire**

**_The Gardener’s cottage,_ _The Dowling Residence_ **

Aziraphale was absentmindedly poking at the fire as Crowley lounged across the sofa, feet resting in a small pool of hot, salty water.

“It’s impossible, angel. Truly impossible. We’re doomed,” the demon lamented.

Aziraphale shook his head, “He’s three, dear. It’s a difficult age for most children, especially one born of hellfire and all that.” He said, waving his hand in the air for emphasis.

“He is a hellion for certain, I’d love to see Hastur or Bee deal with the tyke.”

Aziraphale grimaced, he’d once been friends with the Prince of Hell well before the fall and certainly before he’d been assigned to earth. They had always had a temper and he couldn’t imagine them being suited to childcare in the same way Crowley was predispositioned for it. Beelzebub, he reasoned, had never been tasked with healing or the care of the Host. They'd been a warrior like himself, meant to protect and fight. He didn’t think of their time in heaven often but he could easily see the point Crowley was making. “The house would have been burned to the ground shortly after their arrival, I’m sure.” Aziraphale replied. 

Crowley snorted, his curls were hanging loose on his shoulders, the tight hairstyle he usually wore removed. His black tweed jacket hung unbuttoned and the red chemise he wore underneath hung low, revealing a bit of black lace from the bra he wore over his small breasts. His glasses were discarded and his stockings removed, a pair of ridiculous black heels sitting beside the basin. 

Aziraphale was once again made keenly aware of how beautiful his friend was. He watched as Crowley swirled the red liquid in the glass before pressing it to his dark painted lips to take a sip. The firelight danced across him, it made him look both dangerous and ethereal. The golden glow reminding Aziraphale a little too much of the angel he once was. Crowley had been a beautiful angel, molten gold eyes, long hair that blazed behind him with a spattering of golden freckles. 

“Aziraphale?”

He realized Crowley had been saying something to him while he was lost in thought, “Yes, dear?”

“I… are you alright?”

“Of course, apologies, my mind is elsewhere tonight.” He turned back to the small fireplace, poking at the embers.

Crowley swallowed, “Alright. I think I’m going to head out, he gets restless this time of night and I wouldn’t mind a quick nap.”

“Of course.” He paused, watching as the demon stood, vanishing the basin of water and wine glass he’d been holding. “Crowley?” he asked quietly.

He looked at him, his eyes unobscured and curious, “What’s wrong, angel?”

Aziraphale’s hands were in his lap, fiddling in a nervous manner, “I…” He couldn’t, not yet, not now. “Mind how you go, dear.”

Crowley stood, unmoving, before finally nodding his head and walking towards the door.

“Night, Ziraphale.” He mumbled in the doorway, searching his friend’s eyes once more before turning and leaving for the main house.

“Goodnight, dearest.” He whispered as the door shut, feeling quite alone.

He stood, watching the demon tread through the snow-covered garden before slipping into the house.

He waited in the window until he saw the light to his bedroom click on.


	6. Sleigh Bells

**Day 6- Sleigh Bells**

_**London** _

Crowley was going to murder the teacher.

He was.

She just had to go and read him that ridiculous book.

She just had to bring all of the children sparkling silver bells, just like the ones in the book.

Warlock had been ringing the damned thing for the past 20 minutes while they were stuck in traffic. 

“I have a sleigh bell from Santa’s sleigh, Nanny!” he’d exclaimed as he hopped into the car.

The driver had put up the dark glass screen between them after two minutes of insistent ringing. 

The little boy had excitedly retold his Nanny about the book they’d read in class today, about Father Christmas gifting the boy with the first gift of Christmas and how when they woke up from their naps, each child had a bell wrapped perfectly under their tree.

“Nanny?”

“Yes, Hellspawn?”

“Can we ride the Polar Express?”

He frowned, “No dear, remember what you said? It’s only for children who are losing their faith in Father Christmas.”

“Oh,” he frowned, “Nanny?”

“Warlock?”

“Here,” he said reaching for his Nanny’s wrist, “This is so you always believe in Father Christmas.” The little boy untied the ribbon before placing it around her wrist and clumsily tying a knot to secure it.

He smiled up at her, his grin missing three front teeth.

Crowley felt tears threatening to fall, how could his Brother put such a horrible responsibility on this child. He cupped Warlock's cheek, then pulled him into a hug. The boy constantly surprised him, Warlock was a handful most days, but his heart was pure and kind. He was a good child with a terrible fate, one Crowley hoped desperately to prevent. 

“What do you say, we show Mr. Francis my new bracelet during tea?”

“Yes!” he shouted, before launching into a story about his friend Will and the class pet.

The entire way home, Crowley felt warm where the bell lay tied to his wrist. He didn't believe in Father Christmas, but he had faith in Warlock. 


	7. Choir

**Day 7- Choir**

_**Covent Garden, London** _

As part of his duties this year, he was tasked with taking one very hyperactive Warlock Dowling out to purchase Christmas gifts for his family and friends. His father had handed over a credit card for them to use then sent them on their merry way.

They’d been accompanied by three secret service agents that had since been laden with packages as they made their way down the busy street.

Warlock had already purchased gifts for his Mother and Father, a few odds and ends for relatives in the States he wouldn't be seeing this year and even had insisted on purchasing gifts for his favorite members of the staff. 

The boy was currently licking; and making quite the mess with, a large lollipop they’d purchased at one of the candy stores that lined the street when he paused, nearly causing one of the secret service agents to crash into him from behind.

_Oh how they pound, Raising the sound, O'er hill and dale, Telling their tale._

“Oh.” He whispered, glancing around. “Nanny? Do you hear that?”

_Gaily they ring, While people sing, Songs of good cheer, Christmas is here._

He hummed in response. The song was hauntingly beautiful the way the melody crept into the street, echoing from inside the old building.

“Can we go? I… it’s beautiful!”

_Merry, Merry, Merry, Merry Christmas, Merry, Merry, Merry, Merry Christmas._

“I believe it’s coming from over there,” said Crowley, pointing to an old chapel across the street, ”they are likely practicing hellspawn, we can’t bother them.” He didn’t want to explain to Warlock or the agents why his favorite Nanny had just burst into flames. Perhaps he could find a concert he could take the kid to.

“Oh,” he sighed.

_On on they send, On without end, Their joyful tone, To every home._

“Come on, we still have a few more gifts to buy before we head home.”

One of the men behind them groaned before Crowley turned to glare at them.

_Ding dong, ding..._

The boy nodded and the small group continued down the street as the choir finished their last note.

_Dong._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced is _Carol of the Bells,_ a song we always sang while I was in my High School choir. It's my favorite christmas song and can absolutely give you chills if done correctly.


	8. Silent Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically yesterday's prompt, I got the two mixed up by accident.

**Day 8- Silent Night**

**_The South Downs Cottage_ **

Crowley crept downstairs of their old cottage. They’d returned this year for the Holiday’s, Aziraphale had decided he would not open shop this year as it was often much more difficult to persuade holiday shoppers not to buy something.

Warlock was with them this year, sleeping soundly in the guest bedroom under soft tartan sheets. He’d returned to London for graduate school and for that, they were both thankful. He’d found them on his own and if She were responsible, then, well, perhaps this year would be this first in a long time he felt like thanking _her._

They had decorated a tree, strung popcorn and dried fruits to hang on the plush branches. Adorned it with cinnamon ornaments and a pretty wooden star that sat proudly atop the tree that Aziraphale had kept in his shop for the past century.

He could hear Aziraphale humming as he descended in his warm pajamas. The familiar tune echoed through the house as the angel puttered around the kitchen, cleaning up their mess from earlier in the night.

He snuck behind the angel, wrapping his arms around him, burying his face in his neck to kiss the soft skin below his ear.

The angel kept humming, the vibrations tickling Crowley’s lips as he pressed kisses to his neck. Aziraphale moaned as the demon devilishly began to nip between kisses. “Shhh, Angel.” He murmured, “We have company.”

“He’s asleep.”

“Mm, for now. I don’t think that boy has slept through the night since he was born.” He shifted, resting his head against the Angel’s.

They were quiet, peaceful to enjoy the silence in the other’s company.

Crowley sighed, “Do you know how often I pictured this?”

“Pictured what my dearest?” Aziraphale asked, turning his head slightly to the right to see his lover.

“You and me, domesticity, Warlock.”

He smiled, “He never was just a job, was he?”

Crowley shook his head, “I thought about taking him so many times, Angel. He came back to us on his own, but I hated leaving him here with those people.”

“I know you did love, he is here now, under our roof, sleeping soundly.”

Crowley hugged him tighter, “For now, he’ll be down for water soon. I promise you.”

“He’s not a child anymore, Crowley,” Aziraphale said sarcastically.

He earned a snort in reply, “No, but some things don’t change.”

“I need to finish the dishes, love.”

He nuzzled the angel’s neck, “Not today, come to bed.”

“What about our guest?” he asked.

He slid his hands down to find the angel’s hands resting at his waist, “He’ll be fine, besides. I just want to hold you.”

He looked incredulously at the demon before nodding, “Oh, alight. It can wait for the night.” He said, following Crowley through the doorway and up the stairs into their bedroom.

As they lay there, legs entwined and pressed against the other, they heard the shuffling of footsteps, the click of the door and the creak of their old staircase.

“Told you so,” whispered the demon.

Aziraphale snorted indignantly, “hush you fiend.”

Crowley replied with a firm kiss, pulling the angel tighter against him.

"Goodnight, Angel," he said, snuggling into the angel’s warmth as he allowed sleep to take him.

“ _Sleep in heavenly peace_ ,” Aziraphale whispered as his beloved drifted off to sleep, tucking a piece of his long auburn hair behind his ear. 


	9. Chestnuts

Day 9- Chestnuts

Adam & Warlock’s Flat

They had just gotten home from work; exhausted and waiting on takeout. The living room was dim aside from the twinkling light of the Fraser fir sitting in the corner.

Much like his mother, he loved to decorate for the holiday; much to the amusement of his husband and his almost parents. He’d always loved the holiday and had many fond memories involving the season.

Adam was draped over their sofa while Warlock was sat in his chair, Bilbo in lap, with a book in hand.

He sighed and peered over at his husband, a smile creeping onto his features. He stood silently, walking over to where they kept their stereo and turned it on. He flipped through his playlists, selecting the one with his favorite holiday tunes and clicked play.

_Chestnuts roasting on an open fire_

As the notes began to drift through the speakers, he took three steps over to a bemused Adam before offering him his hand.

_Jack Frost nipping at your nose_

With his husband’s strong hand in his own, he pulled him to stand, pulling him into his embrace as they began to sway to the music.

_Yuletide carols being sung by a choir_

He treasured moments like these, being close enough to feel him. Adam’s body heat seeping into him, warming him. The way his curls tickled his face when they were near, his scent; spicy and sweet.

_And folks dressed up like Eskimos_

Warlock shifted, resting his head against Adam, breathing deeply. “You know,” he murmured, “I’ve never actually had a chestnut.”

Adam snorted, pulling back to look him in the eyes. “You have lived in England nearly your whole life, how the hell have you not ever had a chestnut?”

_Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe_

He shrugged a reply.

“Seriously, Mom has them every year!”

Warlock ducked his head, embarrassed, “They look damp…” he said softly.

“Damp?” Adam repeated incredulously.

“Well… it’s not like a boiled peanut,” he started to reply before Adam interrupted.

“Why are you boiling a peanut?” Adam blinked.

“Well, I don’t boil them, but it’s a snack. They are usually wet when you take them out of the shell, but chestnuts…”

Adam’s complexion had turned a bit green, “Why are you complaining about chestnuts when you do _that_ to a peanut?” he asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Warlock sighed, “It’s different, though.”

“It’s really not.”

“fine,” he huffed, “I will try one this year at your mother’s.”

Adam grinned.

“But the next time we visit the states, you’re trying boiled peanuts.”

His grin shifted into a frown, “Ugh.”

Warlock winked, giving him a firm peck on the lips as the bell buzzed signaling their dinner had arrived.

He pulled away, turning to grab his wallet before going to pay the delivery driver leaving Adam to stare after him scratching his head as the final notes of the song drifted through the room. His husband was a mystery at times. 

_Merry Christmas to you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is, of course, _The Christmas Song._
> 
> Inspired by a conversation I had with a friend a while back, I love boiled peanuts but I've only ever seen chestnuts at the supermarket prepackaged and they look... well, damp.


	10. Gold and Silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I couldn't figure out how to explicitly add it in, this fic takes place in the late 1980's, well before Adam or Warlock were ever born.
> 
> Angel names were literally the first ones that came up when I did a Google search.

**Day 10- Gold and Silver**

_**Macy's, New York City** _

Crowley was bored.

Bored with London, bored of the consistently rainy weather that had set in not two weeks before and he bored with the temptations he’d been tasked to accomplish since the Holiday had begun. 

Really, what fun was it to tempt a priest if the results would take years to culminate?

London had become dull, tedious. It left him feeling restless, an itch under his skin that couldn't be scratched. 

After three days, he'd had enough. He began to contemplate places and eventually decided on New York City. 

One minor demonic miracle later and he was standing on an icy street nearly 3,500 miles away from his home. 

New York was rife with possibility and seemed to be agreeing with him. He’d get a nice room with a huge bed and order room service while getting absolutely smashed. Then, in the morning perhaps he could play tourist. 

He was, of course, planning to use his time in the city to do a few minor temptations, maybe cause some general discord while taking in the sights. He needed a vacation anyway, far away from that blasted angel and his holier than thou attitude.

Yes, he knew quite well he was a demon, _thank you,_ Aziraphale. It wasn’t something he was likely to forget anytime soon.

He could admit to himself that he was in love with the angel, but he truly wished he wasn’t such a prat ninety percent of the time they were together.

Crowley threw his hands in the air; more of a gesture to himself, although it did briefly garner interest from passerby’s. He sighed, shaking his head as he made his way down the street. 

He hated how small Aziraphale could make him feel, unimportant and insignificant because he had fallen as if it wasn't his choice. 

They were friends; or at least, he thought they were, but every time he would bring up their friendship or hint at something more, Aziraphale would quickly shut it down. 

The demon shoved his hands in his pockets, wishing he'd had the forethought to wear a warmer coat. 

The streets were covered in a blanket of snow that gave the city a serene atmosphere, he liked it here. He even briefly considered what it would be like to move there, but quickly decided against it. 

Crowley hadn’t been to New York since the early ’60s, since then, the city had changed immensely since then. It was busy and alive… a place that could be much more suited to him if he ever allowed himself to be away from the Angel for more than a few weeks.

As he made his way up the street, he happened on a large department store with glittering displays in the window. It seemed a good place as any to stir up some trouble, these types of folk were the easiest to tempt and mess around with.

He grinned, it should make for an easy job before he allowed himself to rest for a few days. 

He’d first gone to the makeup counter, spreading some low-level discontent towards the people rummaging through the displays. Their confidence dwindling, he made his way towards the jewelry section. A woman was lusting over a particularly gaudy ring and needed only a bit of encouragement to charge it to credit. On the other side of the display area, there was a man who was about to go several thousand dollars into debt for an engagement ring that would ultimately be turned down and in the middle of it all, a sales clerk who had just about had enough for the day.

A bit of flirting and a wad of cash later, his goal was accomplished.

He continued to poke around the store, even finding himself a shimmering black cocktail dress adorned with gold sequins that made his hips look positively sinful. He made a note to wear it the next time he took Aziraphale out to dinner, perhaps with a new pair of designer heels and the black diamond choker he'd just purchased. 

He hadn’t meant to wander into the section, but there he stood among the bright lights and flashy trees, wandering aimlessly past a ceramic village and a display of fancy potpourri that smelled suspiciously like vanilla. 

Crowley wrinkled his nose, the display was so garish, commercial and so unlike his friend, he hated it. He’d nearly made it out of the holiday décor department when he came upon a large display of angels available for purchase. Each was delicately sculpted and most certainly hand-painted with care considering their outlandish price. 

He grinned mischievously as he searched the display for a certain blond-haired angel.

Crowley snorted as his eyes landed on _Gabriel_ , violet eyes with a golden harp in hand. He wiggled his nose causing the once serene figure to look slightly obscene as the angel’s hand was moved to cover a suspicious lump under his robes.

"Serves him right, the wanker," thought Crowley. 

His eyes flitted over the figurines, impressed by how close the artist had gotten to their corporal forms. _Sandalphon_ , _Ariel, Haniel, Jophiel, Cassiel_ , he read before finding the one he’d been looking for.

_Aziraphale_.

It was close enough to cause his heart to skip a beat, his sword was raised to the heavens with his too-white wings poised to fly. His hair was portrayed longer than he typically wore it and was wearing cream-colored robes that seemed to enhance the impressive wingspan behind him. 

He reached out, softly caressing the angel's delicate features. 

Crowley sometimes forgot his warmhearted friend had once been one of God’s fiercest warriors. He had a good mind to purchase the whole set and have it shipped to the angel, he'd likely get a kick out of it, especially when he saw Gabriel. 

_Michael_ was there among the host, standing tall and proud beside _Israfil_ . _Uriel_ with her cerulean wings folded neatly behind her, even _Ramiel._

His gaze stuttered to a halt over the next figurine. His jaw clenched, fists forming at his side.

_Raphael._

Long flaming curls fell across golden wings that were stretched wide behind him, face upturned towards God, a serpentine staff held firmly in one hand with books gathered in the other. Robes of silver that mimicked starlight adorned the angel with lilies blooming at his bare feet. 

“Oh,” he muttered, reaching out to pick up the fragile figure.

Crowley swallowed, an ache forming between his ribs as he stared down at the miniature angel. 

The truth was, he didn’t regret it. Not really, he enjoyed who he was despite who he had been. 

He wasn't anything special in hell, there were no pretenses, no reason for him pretend. He was powerful, and he had notoriety, but he would never be in charge and for that he was thankful. He'd never liked how the members of the lower hierarchies fawned over him. 

No, Crowley knew who he was and it certainly wasn't this. 

He was Crowley, through and through. He was not an archangel, he was not a prince of hell. 

He was himself, and yet, it still stung.

Crowley was Raphael no more, not for thousands of years. 

He'd asked questions, he was curious. 

"Why?" He’d asked.

His stomach churned as he recalled how Mother had ignored him.

How she'd cast him out with the others, his rebellion had been being unable to choose a side. 

Crowley bit his lip as he sat the ornament down, then the demon wiggled his fingers. 

As he walked away, golden wings turned black and silver robes turned from being made of starlight to midnight. A staff was replaced with a large black snake winding its way around his arm with an apple held firm in his hand.

Crowley made his way out of the store and onto the busy street, raising a hand to call a cab. A night in with a few bottles of his favorite vintage would do miracles for his mood.

As he stepped out into the cold, he spared a moment to look up. To passersby, it looked as if he were shaking his head at the clouds above. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't decide if I'm happy with this one, I have worked on it a few days but it still seems off to me. I have various stages of liking and disliking the "Crowley was Raphael before he fell" HC, but as it has already been used before in this series, I went with it.


	11. Pine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late uploads, I've been writing them but my internet has been a tad bit wonky!

**Day 11- Pine**

**_Tadfield_ **

The wedding had gone off without a hitch, although, granted it had taken several minor miracles along with the help of one meticulous angel and a rather assertive antichrist.

Regardless, Anathema had looked beautiful in her deep blue gown. They’d been wed under the last full moon of the year, glowing large and bright on a hill overlooking the sleepy little village she and Newt made their home.

Crowley had wandered off once the cake had been cut, giving his portion to Aziraphale before slipping into the darkness of the wood nearby. He needed to be alone, to think, to rein in the ache under his ribs and to just _breathe_. 

It was becoming increasingly more difficult for Crowley to hide his feelings for the angel and he was certain that if Aziraphale found out he loved him, their friendship would be over. 

Tonight had been difficult, Aziraphale adored weddings and had been glowing with excitement through the ceremony and reception. 

Crowley was propped against an old pine tree, legs crossed looking up into the darkness lost in thought when Adam found him. 

“Hey, kid," said Crowley as Adam walked over to where he was seated against the tree. 

“Why’d you leave the party?” asked Adam curiously. 

The demon shook his head and shrugged, “S’not my thing, that’s all.”

“Hm, you sure?” he asked, eyes narrowing. 

Crowley knew full well what Adam was referring to, he was too damn clever for his own good and loved to mettle. “Adam,” he warned. Crowley had no care in discussing his love life; or lack thereof, with his nephew. They were just getting to know each other, Crowley was unsure of how to react to him. The boy was so different than Warlock, Adam was outspoken and confident, he expected people to listen to him and he rarely took no for an answer. The young antichrist had a wicked sense of humor and a fiery temper that could rival his father's. Despite his ability to sulk and cause mischief, Warlock had been an easy going child, more interested in his maths and books than doing anything even remotely evil. 

Adam pressed on, “Are you sure it doesn’t have to do at all with a certain angel?”

Crowley rubbed his hands over his face, “Nope.” He was not having this conversation.

Adam laughed, “I probably shouldn’t tell you…”

“Then don’t?”

Adam rolled his eyes, “Grandmother said you were always the dramatic one.” He hadn't meant to say it, but it slipped out before he could stop himself. 

Crowley froze, “what?” he replied sharply. 

“Oh… uh.”

“You’ve spoken to her?” Crowley asked cautiously.

“A few times, she lives on earth… she likes it here” He replied quietly. 

“She’s here?”

Adam shook his head, “Not here, exactly… just around. She always shows up when I least expect it… although, she used to be my neighbor... growing up. She babysat me a few times and used to make the neighborhood kids biscuits and cocoa on snow days.”

The demon growled, “Of course she did, under our noses the whole time.”

Adam cleared his throat, “That wasn’t what I meant to say, I…” he paused, “I was going to say I’m sure Aziraphale loves you, if he makes you happy, you should be together.”

“Oh, yeah. Course.” He nodded, “If it were only that simple, kid.”

An awkward silence fell over them before Crowley cleared his throat, “Has she ever…” he began to ask then shook his head.

“Ever what?” questioned Adam, his eyebrows knitting together in a way that keenly reminded Crowley of his wayward brother. 

Crowley braced himself against the tree, his fingers grasping the fallen pine needles in his fist to ground himself, “What does she say?” he finally asked.

“Usually we just talk, sometimes about school, other times about my..." he paused, biting his lip, "my gift.”

Crowley closed his eyes, “Oh.”

Adam worried his lip, “I know she’s come to the bookshop before…”

“Course she has,” he muttered wondering how many times he'd been in the presence of God herself as she poked around the dusty old shop. 

“I… I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault kid,” and it wasn't. Not at all, he'd been dragged into this just as well as he'd been. A pawn in her great _ineffable_ game. 

An eternity seemed to pass before Adam spoke again,“They are about to toss the bouquet, you should line up with the others,” he suggested. “That’s why I followed you… it might have happened already though.”

Crowley nodded at the fidgeting boy, “Come on then," he stood up, dusting the debris from his trousers and slowly making his way back towards the crowd. 

The rest of the evening passed with ease. Crowley had been pleased to discover that it had been Aziraphale who'd caught the bouquet and he truly wished he'd been there to see the look on the angel's face as the large bunch of flowers landed in his arms. 


	12. Caroling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the scene in the new Grinch movie where the townspeople are caroling and follow him around the village? That's where I got this idea =)

**Day 11- Caroling**

**_Adam’s Office, University of London_ **

For students, classes had ended the day before. Fall semester was over and done with and most of the students had left the campus with only a handful staying behind.

Adam Young was in his office, nibbling at the end of his red pen while grading final exams. He only had a handful left before he could go home and sleep the evening away; preferably in an alcohol-induced state.

The semester had been a nightmare from the beginning, and he was more than thankful for the quiet while he finished his grading.

His phone pinged, it was Warlock, asking if he wanted to get dinner later. He happily replied before sitting his phone down and resuming his grading.

An hour later he was finished, grades entered into the system and he was excitedly shoving things into his bag to leave. He glanced up at the clock that read 7:45, still time for a late dinner at the pub up the road.

He locked his office door and headed out to his car.

As the once-and-still-kind-of-Antichrist, Adam had an innate sense of danger… or at least a sense that someone was following him. He’d never bothered to worry because from what he could tell, there wasn’t much that could touch him.

The sense that someone was following him only seemed to increase until all at once, he was surrounded by students dressed in frumpy sweaters, bells, and Santa hats.

Bugger.

Lucy, a student he’d had in his morning class spoke first, “Hi, Professor Young! We’re spreading holiday cheer on campus.”

He sighed, “And how, might I ask, are you doing that?”

Ella, another child in his morning class answered, “By singing, of course!”

From behind him, he heard Carson beginning to lead the group by clapping a steady beat to follow.

_God rest ye merry gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay_

They weren’t half bad.

_Remember Christ our Savior, was born on Christmas Day_

He wondered how long they’d been working on this, he turned around while they were signing, counting nine students spending their winter holiday serenading a professor instead of whatever it was university students got up to these days.

_To save us all from Satan's power, when we were gone astray_

_Yikes_ , he thought. He should probably send his infernal father a message or something, it probably wasn’t his favorite time of year. The last he'd heard, he'd moved topside and was inhabiting a place in LA of all places. 

_Oh tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy, oh tidings of comfort and joy_

“Adam? Is that you in there?” asked a familiar voice jovially.

The carolers paused their singing to turn and glance behind them.

Adam felt himself light up, he couldn’t help himself as he saw the striking figure of his friend waltz up behind them. 

“Professor Dowling, what are you still doing here?” asked Marie.

He smirked, “Waiting on this lump to finish his grading so we can get dinner.”

Adam noticed the suddenly interested glances from a few of their students, “Shall we?” he asked Warlock, trying to hide the flush gracing his neck and cheekbones.

The students waved goodbye as the duo walked silently towards Adam’s car.

“You looked a bit uncomfortable back there,” Warlock prodded curiously as he fastened his seatbelt. 

Adam glanced over at him, “It’s just a bit strange to hear people singing about, you know... _Satan._ "

Warlock sucked in a sharp breath, “Oh.”

“Er… yeah.”

“Have you ever?” the question lingered. 

Adam grimaced, “A few times… it’s, odd? All things considered, he's not a terrible bloke.”

Warlock nodded, “I kind of get it, my parents are…” he shrugged, then smiled at the man driving. "I'm simply famished, what do you think you'll get?" he asked. 

And just like that, the topic of conversation had been steered away after Warlock had realized it made his friend uncomfortable to speak about. 

For the hundredth time, Adam wonders why it’s so easy with Warlock Dowling at his side.


	13. Wrapping Paper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snake!Crowley, because I wanted to write an adorable silly snek.

**Day 13- Wrapping Paper**

_**The Bookshop** _

Crowley was happily sunning in his favorite chair, he was snuggled deep into the cushion, his snout tucked neatly beneath one of his many coils.

There was a rustle, he briefly wondered what the angel had gotten up to before falling back into his nap.

A little later, he heard another rustle and the muttering of a word that was certainly not angelic.

“Fuck,” Aziraphale muttered as the paper rolled up again, he glared at the offending object before standing and walking up to his flat. He’d forgotten the tape of all things, he’d promised to wrap Warlock and Adam’s gifts the human way, even if it killed him.

As Aziraphale marched up the stairs, Crowley slowly uncoiled and made his way curiously towards the paper.

He nosed at the roll, using his body to lay the paper flat.

Triumphant, he stretched out into a comfortable position to wait for his angel to return.

This would have been perfectly fine had the paper not decided to turn on him, wrapping him loosely in tartan paper.

He wiggled, trying to get loose but wasn’t having much luck.

Crowley heard a tutting noise before the paper surrounding him was gently pried away, “Thanksss Assiraphale.”

The angel smiled warmly at him then reached down and picked him, laying him across his shoulders before returning to his work.

Crowley coiled around Aziraphale's neck, tucking his head into the crook of the angel’s neck, warmed by his body heat. The snake yawned sleepily. 

“Oh, alright. We’ll take a break for a bit. I won’t get anything done with you like that dear.”

Three hours later, the angel awoke on his sofa with a human-shaped demon draped across him, snuggled tightly against his side. He pulled the demon closer, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple before allowing himself to drift off once again. 


	14. Eggnog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited while exhausted so mistakes are mine. I really just wanted an excuse for Crowley to wear a pretty dress and fluster Aziraphale.

**Day 14- Eggnog**

_**Various locations, London** _

The staff Christmas party was in just a few days. It was the one night of the year where the entire staff was off and of course, required to be in attendance. There would be plenty of booze and food to be had, along with gifts and holiday cheer. 

The house was a buzz of energy and excitement. In the kitchen, three women spoke of a shopping trip in the upcoming week for new holiday dresses in hopes of tempting their crushes. 

“I think it’s a great idea, Liz, really,” Crowley said with a grin. Spending their entire Christmas bonus on a new dress guaranteed to never be worn again? It could easily be written as a temptation in his book and get Dagon off his ass for a few days. A true Christmas miracle. 

Liz raised an eyebrow at him, “What about you Coraline? Hm? Plan on dressing up for a certain gardener?” she teased. 

He blushed, unable to control the heat that crept up the back of his neck and cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, looking down at his feet and certainly not towards the two maids who were now grinning cheekily at him.

“Coraline!” laughed Sarah, “You know he’s sweet on you!”

“Exactly, oh!” exclaimed Liz, “You should get something that shows a bit of skin! Honey, show a man some cleavage and tell ‘em whose boss and you’ve got him!”

Crowley had turned red from the tip of his nose to the top of his chest, this was not behavior becoming of a demon such as himself. He wondered how his simple temptation had suddenly been turned around on him, “Girls, he’s not interested in me like that.” He'd know, it wasn't like he hadn't been trying to get Aziraphale to notice him in that way for the last six thousand years. 

Sarah snorted as Liz rolled her eyes.

“Please! Honey, you don’t bring someone bouquets and plant their favorite flowers if you aren’t interested in them. He’s probably just shy!”

Sarah nodded, “you don’t see the way he watches you when you walk away.”

He tapped the side of his wine glass, a bottle they’d procured from the wine stores below the kitchen. Then, he sighed, “alright, tomorrow morning I’m off and so are the two of you.”

“Yes!” said Liz, turning to high five Sarah, already making plans for a girls day out. 

The next morning dawned bright and early, he’d hardly slept at all, especially once a certain three-year-old had found his way into his Nanny’s bed and was currently somehow taking up the entire mattress despite his size.

He carefully lifted the child and returned him to his bed, then began to dress.

His casual clothes as _Coraline Ashtoreth_ were less constricting, softer and more flattering. He dressed carefully, pulling on a comfortable blouse, blazer, and jeans. He did his makeup as usual before deciding to allow his hair to hang in loose curls around his face.

He was nervous, he knew clothing and he knew temptations; however, he’d never known the angel to be easily swayed and could only imagine what Aziraphale would do if he thought he was being tempted into something.

The truth was, even if Aziraphale did for some reason decide to kiss him, hold him, do all the things Crowley so desperately wanted; nothing would come of it. Nothing good could come of it, no matter how much he wished it. 

Aziraphale was his friend and the time for anything more developing between them was over and had been for a very long time. The moment he fell, Aziraphale put him out of mind. Which was fine. Yes, it hurt but he’d had time to come to terms with the fact Aziraphale didn’t want him in that way. He could love the angel and that would be enough.

Crowley just hoped the night didn’t end in disaster.

“Come out, Cor!” said Liz from outside the dressing room. They’d ended up in Knightsbridge after a brunch he’d paid for at a restaurant well above their paygrade. He liked them well enough and didn’t mind using a minor demonic miracle so they wouldn’t question how the Nanny could afford to eat at the _Mayfair_.

They’d been trying on dresses for the last two hours, Liz and Sarah had already purchased their own; and if by some chance both dresses rang up significantly less than on the tag, it was just a nice surprise that he certainly had nothing to do with.

The dress was floor length with a deep plunging v-neckline. The slinky black material was adorned with silver sequined Celtic knots that accentuated his curves beautifully. Looking at himself in the mirror, he gulped.

He opened the door to the dressing room and slowly stepped out, feeling much more self-conscious about himself that he had in the past.

Sarah elbowed Liz and her mouth fell open, “Oh honey, you have to get it! Francis won’t know what hit ‘em!”

He was starting to flush again, an excited flutter in his abdomen churning, “alright.”

The day of the party, Crowley, Liz, and Sarah met for lunch followed by a brief spa day. Nails were manicured and hair perfectly coifed.

They’d returned to Liz’s flat to get dressed, gossiping about the other staff and their new favorite person of topic; Francis.

Once they were dressed, a cap arrived to take them to the Bulgari Hotel.

The two women had excitedly been chattering beside him, mainly about David, one of the new secret service agents that had been assigned to the residence only two months prior.

He’d yet to see Aziraphale, he knew he was going to be in attendance, it was expected of them and he’d mentioned that he would see him there.

Besides, when did Aziraphale ever turn down free food?

He was feeling pleasantly buzzed between the eggnog and cranberry cocktails that he’d been consuming since they arrived.

“Don’t look now, but your man is over there by the punch.” Said Liz, elbowing him not so subtly. 

For the hundredth time that day, he flushed. He was a demon, the creator of original sin and fallen Archangel… who also happened to be completely besotted with an idiot and was unable to control the blood flow to his face. 

He flicked his long curls over his shoulder, tipped back his third cocktail and sauntered towards Aziraphale, hips swaying seductively as he moved across the floor. 

“Angel,” he purred as he came to stand beside his friend. He was dressed in clothes more similar to what he typically wore than his typical outfit as Francis. 

When he turned to look at him he dropped the mini-quiche he was holding, his eyebrows raising into his hairline. “C-Crowley!” he stuttered, “what are you doing dressed like _that_!”

The demon frowned, “just wanted to look nice tonight, angel.”

“Oh, of course.” Aziraphale, Crowley realized looked hurt and he couldn’t figure out why.

He grinned at his friend, ladling some of the drink into the mug in his hand before passing it to Aziraphale, “try the eggnog, I have on good authority it has been spiked no less than three times.”

Aziraphale nodded his head, a slight smile replacing his uncertain expression as he accepted a mug.

They ended up sitting at the same table as one another while Crowley’s new friends went off to dance.

Aziraphale sighed, glancing at the demon beside him, “Dear, you look lovely tonight.”

Crowley felt heat rise to his face, “thankss, Angel, so do you.”

Aziraphale looked away, tapping his fingers on the white linen cloth. “James has been looking at you all evening, as has Evan and Thomas.”

Crowley shrugged, “part of the job, temptation and all that.”

“Of course, of course… it’s just, I wouldn’t mind you dancing with them if you wished, I know I’m not the best company.”

Crowley tilted his head, gazing at Aziraphale intently, “I’d rather sit here with you than get groped by inexperienced men any day.”

The angel visibly relaxed but refused to meet his eyes, “but you like dancing, Crowley.”

“Well, if we’re being honest here Angel, I’d hoped you’d saved a dance for me,” he winked.

Aziraphale’s featured betrayed his shock momentarily before slightly nodding, “Well, then… that’s,” he swallowed, “My dear, would you care to dance?”

Red lips pulled into a wide smile, “yeah, I think I would.”

Aziraphale clumsily led Crowley towards the dance floor, placing his arms in the proper spots as he stiffly began to lead.

Crowley chuckled warmly, “Angel, nobody dances like this anymore.”

The angel huffed, furrowing his brow and pursing his lip in annoyance.

“Here, like this Angel,” whispered Crowley as he pulled the angel flush against him, taking the opportunity to wind his arms around the angel.

It was a bit awkward at first, but by the end of the song, they were happily swaying to the tune.

One song, then another.

As the notes faded on the third song, Crowley felt Aziraphale pull away.

“We can’t dear, you know we can’t.”

Crowley nodded, “I know Angel.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth the speak before deciding better, instead, he glanced around the room before leaning over to place a small kiss on Crowley’s cheek.

The demon felt warm the rest of the night. 

It had been years since the party at the Bulgari Hotel, years since a stolen peck on the cheek and years since they _finally_ confessed their love for one another.

Aziraphale had decided It was past time to clean out the demon’s wardrobe that had somehow managed to make its home in piles on their bedroom floor and every surrounding flat surface.

Between the two of them, there were several piles of designer clothing to be given away to charity. The closet had nearly been cleared, as had the piles laying around their bedroom.

Aziraphale was pleased he could once again use their chairs and see the hardwood floor of their bedroom.

The angel was rummaging around for more items to donate when his fingers brushed across a familiar garment.

“Oh Crowley,” whispered Aziraphale as he pulled out the long dress from its spot in their closet, “you still have it.”

“Hm?” he asked, not looking up from the pile of belts he was looking through.

“The dress!”

He glanced towards Aziraphale, ducking his head when he realized what he was holding, “Oh, course, Angel. It was a lucky dress.”

Aziraphale leans over to give him a quick peck, “dear, perhaps you could wear this to dinner soon. It would be lovely to see you in the dress that sparked many _inspiring_ dreams.”

“Ngk,” he replied as a heavy flush bloomed across his face and neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to see the Dress mentioned, I added it to the tumblr version of this fic. It's beautiful and so very Crowley.
> 
> <https://aziraphalesrarebooks.tumblr.com/post/189749951623/aziraphalesrarebooks-day-14-eggnog>


	15. Laughter

**Day 15- Laughter**

_**The Bookshop** _

Aziraphale was silently watching as the three most important people in his long life were double over, laughing over a story Crowley had been telling. There was something to be said about hearing the ones you loved laughing openly and comfortably in your presence.

Its something pure and it filled him with so much joy and love…

“Angel?” Crowley interrupted his thoughts, Aziraphale glanced towards the demon curiously.

“Hm?” asked Aziraphale.

Adam grinned, “You were glowing.”

“Oh!” he replied slightly embarrassed, reining in his angelic glow.

Crowley laughed, “What were you thinking about to cause you to manifest your halo?”

Aziraphale shook his head, smiling, pointedly ignoring the blush creeping into his cheeks, “What about another glass of red?” he asked, getting up from his spot on the sofa and into the kitchenette.

As he uncorked another bottle, he beamed happily to himself as the laughter of his little family rang out from the other room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woops! I keep forgetting to post these, I hope everyone is having a beautiful Holiday season!!


	16. Ice Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight Trigger Warning for this chapter, slight injury mentioned but nothing serious! 
> 
> Also a bit sad because Warlock has crap parents.

**Day 16- Ice Storm**

_**The Dowling Residence, South Carolina, United States.** _

They’d been living in the States for nearly a year when it happened. The storm of the decade the news had said.

A promise of snow and ice just before the Christmas Holidays. 

Warlock was excited, snow meant no school and he had truly come to hate the school he’d been enrolled in. Touted as the most prestigious school in the state, it was nothing compared to his previous school and he’d quickly become bored with the lessons.

As he went to bed that night, memories of his last big snow played throughout his head. Snow angels and a snowball fight, a snowman that lasted a week longer than the rest of the snow.

That had been nearly 5 years ago in London, he had been ten. 

The next morning, he woke to a cold, dark house with Bilbo curled at his side. He ran his fingers through the cat’s soft fur as yellow eyes blinked sleepily at him.

It was too cold to get up just yet. 

He curled around the cat, falling back asleep.

The second time he awoke, it was less dark but still frigid in his bedroom. The power must be out

“Come on,” he said to the cat, “we need to eat breakfast.”

Yellow eyes blinked at him before slowly stretching and sitting up.

Warlock quickly put on his slippers and a robe before racing to the window and throwing open his curtains.

Ice had covered everything, each tree limb, blade of grass and even the pond in their backyard was frozen.

He was surprised at how beautiful it looked, strange and wicked but beautiful all the same.

Warlock itched to go out and explore. 

He made his way downstairs, discovering once he arrived at the kitchen the power was out.

“Morning, Sally," He whispered to the cook standing behind the gas stove. She turned to look at him, her grandmotherly features softening once she saw him.

“Good Afternoon, Warlock. Nice of you to join us,” She teased.

He laughed, “how long has the power been out?”

“Oh, since about 3 this morning. Woke up to some of your father’s bodyguards in a tizzy over the down alarm system.”

Warlock giggled even harder, “Was it, David?”

She sniggered, “and John, you know how those two are together. Ridiculous the both of them.”

The fifteen-year-old raised an eyebrow at her, “double or nothing they’ll be together by Christmas.”

“Warlock Dowling!” she feigned surprise, a twinkle forming in her eye, “I give it by the new year!” she winked.

“You’re on!”

She smiled, she was one of the few members of the staff that had moved with them when his dad decided to run for the senate. They’d made their home in the states their permanent residence and left the large estate he’d grown up in. The house itself was old and large, it had originally belonged to his great grandparents and had since been passed down. 

Sally sat a mug in front of him before turning to finish lunch. “Would you like me to fix something for you once lunch is finished for everyone else?”

He shrugged, “S’fine, I’m not that hungry anyway,” he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. “I think I might go for a walk in a bit, take a few pictures.”

She nodded, “You’d make a great photographer dove, you have an eye for it.”

“Thank you,” he replied, glancing down at his shoes in embarrassment. 

Sally shook her head and turned to finish the stew she was fixing. 

Two cups of coffee and three pieces of toast later, he’d bundled up, left Bilbo cuddled on his bed and went out to explore, camera in hand.

He could see his breath in the cold air, the world was frozen and made of glass. He grinned before he sat out towards the trees just beyond the pond. 

Warlock had been out in the wood for nearly an hour, he was chilled, and his feet had long gone soggy. He spotted a cardinal and moved to take its picture, the ice crunching beneath his shoes pleasantly.

One step, then two.

Then suddenly, he slipped, feet flying into the air as he hit the back of his head on something solid.

Colors swam in his vision as darkness engulfed him. 

A quarter-mile away, a cat began to meow and fuss insistently, scratching at the door and biting at the feet of anyone who came near.

The typically docile cat was tugging at her pants leg, “David!” she called, “I think we need to go look for Warlock," said Sally nervously looking at the ginger cat. 

They found him easily, a large knot had formed on the back of his head and he was unconscious. 

Four hours later, he was one camera short; it had been shattered when he fell, had a mild concussion and had one very perturbed cat who refused to leave his side.

The power to their home had been restored earlier and his room was pleasantly warm.

There was a knock on his door which opened to reveal Sally, “I brought up your dinner, how ya feeling?” she asked.

He shrugged, “sore and tired.”

She nodded, “you scared us, dove.”

“I didn’t mean to, it happened so fast," said Warlock gnawing his lip, looking at the hands resting in his lap. 

Again, she nodded, “that cat of yours is something special, he went ballistic… it’s like he knew you were in trouble.”

The cat looked up at his owner, “yeah… he’s something special," he smiled, then moved a hand to scratch behind the cat's ear. 

“I’m glad you’re ok but please be more careful, I don’t know how that Nanny of yours kept you alive all those years when you tend to act first and think later,” she said pointedly.

Warlock frowned at the mention of his Nanny, “yeah, musta kept her on her toes.”

“I’ll be here a while longer doing some prep for tomorrow, let me know if you need anything?”

“Hey Sally,” he asked, biting his lip nervously.

Her worried expression deepened, “Yes dove?”

“What did Mom and Dad say?”

“Oh, they’re very worried about you!” she replied quickly, _too quickly._

He nodded, “They haven’t even called have they?”

She sighed, knowing there was little use in lying to the boy, “No, I’m sorry Warlock.”

He shrugged, beginning to pick at his plate signaling he was through talking.

She smiled sadly at the teen before shutting the door.

In the kitchen, she leaned against the counter. One day, they would regret treating him the way they had. What sort of parent left their child alone the entire month of December? He was only fifteen for goodness sake! 

He had reacted when she'd mentioned Coraline. They'd not been close but had shared a few bottles of the Dowling's good wine more than once after a difficult day. 

Sally wondered if she still had Coraline’s number anywhere. Most of the staff had stayed in England and had lost touch ages ago. It would do the boy well to hear from her, truthfully, she was a little surprised the woman hadn’t kidnapped the boy when they fired her. She’d loved Warlock more than his parents had ever seemed to. 

She'd never forget that day, the typically cool, unaffected woman hugging the boy tightly, whispering something in his ear before standing and quickly turning away and out the door. The loud crack of the door slamming echoing through the room. 

Warlock had stood for a moment, chin raised defiantly before stomping to his bedroom. 

Coraline had sent a friend to pick up her belongings from the house. 

Warlock hadn't come out of his bedroom until a week later. 

She tapped out a message to Harriet informing her once again on the status of her son, then bit her lip in thought before typing out a message to an old colleague. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if the spacing seems off, I've been trying to fix it for the better part of 30 minutes but everytime it seems to reset and become weird again. I typically add a space between each paragraph to make it easier for people to read who have vision problems like myself but this was just a pickle.


	17. Ornament

**Day 17- Ornament**

**_Crowley and Aziraphale’s Cottage, South Downs_ **

The holidays had arrived without warning. December had blinked by, Crowley had been sure it had only been July last week.

The holidays, Christmas, in particular, brought memories of a bright-eyed little boy racing into his bedroom too early in the morning excited for Christmas morning. He smiled at the thought of those mornings long past. When Warlock was older, he'd wait patiently at the door for all of three seconds before picking the lock and rushing in. 

It had been almost seven years since he’d seen Warlock. He hadn’t expected to miss him as much as he did, he’d checked in with him for a while. Never in his human form, and just to make sure he was safe and alright. Then, the family moved, and Crowley knew that he needed to get over it.

He’d promised Aziraphale as much.

A demon wasn’t meant to feel things, especially over a child that held little importance in the whole scheme of things.

A demon shouldn’t love, but he’d always been the exception, hadn’t he?

Crowley had never anticipated how much love one tiny human boy could fit inside him. He’d realized in the years since the apocalypse that love was hard to define, the love he felt for Aziraphale was all-consuming, it burned him, overwhelmed him and held such power over him. Warlock, on the other hand, was a calm love, protective and stubborn, unwavering.

How could he not love him? Nearly eleven years was nothing in the course of his long life but day after day spent mothering the child had left its mark. It filled him with dread and hope, fear and love.

Would he be safe? What if he fell ill?

Tonight, his worries were haunting him, he desperately wanted to reach out; human life span be damned, but he wouldn’t.

He’d never meant to get so attached, it hadn’t been in the plan. He was to influence the child, make sure he grew up safely and that be it.

The demon ran trembling hands over his face.

He didn’t know what had come over him, the melancholy feeling had sunk in and settled under his ribs.

Aziraphale was visiting their neighbor; an elderly woman who enjoyed baking, gossiping and bodice ripper novels. She and the angel had struck up an easy friendship within days of their arrival. The angel would likely not return home until late, giving him time to reminisce in peace.

It wasn’t that he was embarrassed, he just didn’t believe the angel understood. He’d cared for the boy, but it hadn’t been in the same capacity, at least from what he could tell.

Tucked in his office, at the bottom of his heavy oak desk lay a box.

A box made of cardboard, nothing special.

A typical shoebox, nothing more.

But inside? Inside was what he had left of someone very dear to him. A human whose life was limited. A human who could be taken from the world tomorrow and there would be nothing for Crowley to do. Once death had taken him, he had no say in the mater.

Warlock would be gone, dust to dust, ashes to ashes.

Crowley shook his head in an attempt to push out the negative thoughts. It wouldn’t do him any good to think like that. If Warlock decided, on his own, to seek him out, then there might be a way he could postpone the inevitable.

He’d promised he’d give him a human life, one he deserved with the love of his family. 

A family he prayed was treating him well;  _ as if the Dowling’s had ever put Warlock first _ , he thought bitterly.

Crowley carefully picked up the box and placed it atop his desk, hands hovering above the lid.

Inside was various photos, mostly taken by Aziraphale or one of the maids. There were a few pictures he’d drawn when he was little, as well as various trinkets he’d given him once he was old enough to pick out gifts himself.

Finally, he removed the lid and sighed.

His heart was heavy, an ache of longing that gnawed in the pit of his gut. He chewed his lip and ran his finger across a picture staring at him from within the box.

Warlock was hanging off his back, arms wrapped tight around his neck grinning wildly. It had been a beautiful day, early fall with a nip in the breeze.

They’d had a picnic in the garden… the memory brought a soft smile to his lips.

As he dug through the memories, the ache in his chest lightened, replaced with warmth. His fingers brushed against something, curious, he pulled out the small ornament he’d been given while Warlock was in preschool.

It was a small glass bauble, filled with sparkly red beads. On one side, written in the teacher's messy scribble was Warlock’s name, on the other, a tiny heart made from his fingerprints.

He’d been three.

Crowley held the ornament up in the light, watching it sparkle.

Aziraphale quietly closed the door, he and Mrs. Primm had gotten into a bottle of brandy and a lovely cheesecake she’d baked earlier in the day. It was nearing midnight, the small tree he’d convinced Crowley to put up was still lit in the corner and his dearest demon was asleep on the sofa.

He easily lifted Crowley who settled quickly into his warmth, taking him up the stairs and laying him in the bed. A quick miracle and he was wearing soft tartan flannel pajamas.

The angel made his way back downstairs, made a cup of cocoa before settling in to read for a bit.

He looked up to admire their tree, white lights, and sparkling ornaments.

_ Oh? _ He thought,  _ what’s this then? _

Setting the mug aside, he stood, taking three steps to investigate.

He skimmed his fingers over the ornament, turning to examine the small bauble, then smiled.

He closed his eyes, and sent a small prayer towards heaven,  _ please let him find him again, please. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonight is Christmas Eve and I hope everyone who happens across this fic, regardless the time of year has a wonderful day tomorrow!


	18. Cookies

**Day 18- Cookies**

_**Adam Young’s house, Tadfield** _

Deidre had just removed the tray of sugar cookies from the oven and placed them on the counter to cool when she heard a bump under the table followed by a shushing noise.

She smiled, shaking with silent laughter. It seemed _The Them_ were at it again. The 7-year-olds were full of mischief and had apparently set their sights on her baking.

She pulled four plates from the cupboard and placed them on the table followed by several bags of icing and sprinkles.

“If only I had helpers to help me decorate all of these cookies for the party tonight.”

She grinned knowingly as she heard whispers from beneath the table. Deidre turned around towards the stove just in time to hear four chairs being pushed out, “helpers need clean hands.”

“Mooom!” cried Adam with a pout. 

She turned around and raised an eyebrow at her son and his friends, “no helping with dirty hands.”

The Them scattered, chasing Adam towards the bathroom as his Dad walked into the kitchen looking slightly confused. He pointed towards them causing Deidre to snigger, "Santa's helpers." 

The man goofily grinned, bending to peck his wife on the lips while reaching towards the cooling cookies. When he pulled away, he stuffed half the cookie into his mouth, waggled his eyebrows at her and scurried away. 

Several minutes later, there were four children perched at the table with frosting covering their hands and sprinkles littering the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays y'all!


	19. Day 19- Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible TW for mentions of the Blitz of London and bombs.

**Day 19- Wish**

_**The Bookshop, Soho, London** _

Aziraphale was resting uneasily in the frigid backroom of his bookshop, huddled under an old quilt, sipping on the single glass of wine he'd allowed himself. The night was bleak and dismal, suiting for the last night of such a dreadful year. 

He shivered, too weak to heat the inside of the shop, too much of his power was being put to use elsewhere. The angel had been managing a low-level miracle to keep his shop and the surrounding block safe from the Blitz. It had been trying, exhausting to keep the bombs away from his home and the homes of others he held dear. 

He wished he could do more. 

The war had seemed to drag on; he was bone-weary, there had been so much death.

So much destruction.

In all his days on Her planet, he’d never experienced anything like this before.

He prayed he never would again.

Aziraphale sipped at his wine, he’d had been saving it for a memorable occasion and this seemed as good a time as any. 

He was lonesome, dreadfully so.

It had been so long since he’d seen Crowley, and he missed the demon terribly.

Their previous meeting had been disastrous, he wanted to trust Crowley. He should have trusted Crowley, but the thought of him… Aziraphale shook his head then took a deep drink.

The holiday season had been cold, the joy of Christmas had been dampened by so much destruction and death. They’d only just begun recovering from the last war. Aziraphale questioned if the humans he’d come to love so much would be able to recover at all? 

A new year, with new trials and tribulations, resolutions and promises to be made in hopes of a better year. 

He was much too old for resolutions; Aziraphale knew he was well set in his ways; too stubborn to change, unwilling and tired.

As the sirens sounded around him, he prepared himself for another endless night.

He wondered what his dearest friend was doing, was he alone? Was he safe? Discorporation may be temporary but he knew well from past experience that you felt the life draining from your body, suffered the pain and fear humans so often experience in death.

Fear coiled in his belly, it had been so long since he'd seen Crowley. 

The angel bit his lip, unsure if he should allow himself this small comfort before relenting to himself. 

He closed his eyes and reached out. He’d done it many times before, on nights when he missed the presence of his friend so keenly, urgently. Never enough to alert Crowley he was searching for him but enough to offer him peace for the night. He'd been absent for years only to show up again a decade or so earlier, much to the relief of Aziraphale, certain he'd somehow accomplished his goal of obtaining holy water. 

The angel smiled to himself when he recognized the familiar demonic aura. He lingered on it, desperately wanted to reach out further, to say _hello_ , but he wouldn't dare. Despite the sound of bombs in the distance, he felt more at ease, he wondered what Crowley was getting up to? Why was he in Farringdon at this time of night? Regardless of why, feeling him so near put him at ease. 

Crowley was alive, nearly twenty minutes away, likely getting up to mischief. He sighed to the empty room, it had been too long, he'd allowed this argument to go on too long. Once the war was finished, when he knew they were safe from Heaven and Hell's prying eyes, he would reach out. 

The war needed to end, swiftly. For his own good and the lives of those he'd been tasked to protect. 

He decided, at that moment; he would interfere, regardless of what Heaven believed, it was time to act. He’d do something, anything at all to put a stop to this damned war. 

Aziraphale reached out once more, just to assure himself Crowley was truly alive. Then, he pulled away, blinking back emotions he wouldn’t dare allow to fall.

He watched the clock arm march towards midnight, only a few remaining seconds left of 1940.

_Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick._

_Tock_ , the short arm slid to stand over the twelve on his ancient clock as the long arm pursued its march.

“Happy New Year,” the angel said alone to the vacant room. He raised his glass in a mock toast then drained the liquid in one large gulp.

He closed his eyes, heart heavy and allowed himself a moment to wish.

_Please, please allow him to stay safe. Allow us to meet on better terms_ , _**please**_ his heart begged, wished, pleaded, _I miss him, so very much._

**Author's Note:**

> Each fic is inspired by Drawlight's Advent Calendar. 
> 
> Find it here:
> 
> <https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/189391982184/drawlight-drawlight-aziraphale-crowley-for>  
> 


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